Sweet talk
by Inkfire
Summary: Ron and Fleur Weasley discover that true love doesn't always go smoothly. Round Eight for the 34 stories, 106 reviews challenge on the HPFC forum.


**A one-shot for the 34 stories, 106 reviews challenge.**

**Round Eight: Ron/Fleur. Named after the song by The Killers.**

* * *

At the start, he was an insect.

Nothing more, nothing less. Oh, he wasn't the only one – but most of the insects more or less kept away from her, on the whole. That one hadn't. If she'd given it a second thought she might have called that bravery, but she didn't. Oh, Fleur Delacour wasn't that much of a bitch, but seduction was in her genes, she couldn't help it now, could she? She breathed it, felt it, exhaled it with every flick of her head, every sweep of her hand, every word, every footstep. No, Fleur wasn't a bitch, she was just a little bit unfeeling – and for her the world was clearly divided, between the lovely, and the insects, who had every right to live and be happy, as long as they had the decency to do it from a distance. This one happened to be an insect – a very peculiar insect, who seemed to believe that he had the right to ask Fleur Delacour to a ball.

She did not say no, she just turned away.

* * *

Of course Fleur was a tiny bit, and maybe even a pretty large bit arrogant, but she wasn't a monster either. She could _like_ people, even plain or downright ugly ones sometimes, as long as they did something to make her like them. And so she liked Ron Weasley, although he'd been nothing but an _insect_ the year before, because he was now family. In fact, he was the exception. Molly was annoying and Arthur a bore and Ginny a nasty little girl and Fred and George nice but with no interest in her whatsoever and Charlie was away and Percy was not to be talked about _ever_, at least not if the others were around – but Ron was sweet. Quite honestly Harry was way more interesting, he _visibly_ had more brains and he had saved her darling Gabrielle, but Harry wasn't really, actually family, and she had to make an effort. So she liked Ron. He smiled at the sight of her, he asked her if she had slept well or whether the ghoul was bothering her, and she made him go a bit glassy-eyed all right, but oh well, he was only human – in this whole family of barbarians, she believed she could say he was at least _decent_.

She could do with that. She didn't need much more – anyway, there was Bill. It was simple enough.

* * *

_Lovely_.

Fleur traced her husband-to-be's scars with a white, slim, delicate finger. Things were twisting inside her chest and she had a clear idea of what they might be. _Love_, breaking free from shallowness at last. _Breaking. Broken_. Fitting. Fleur stood. He would sleep a few more hours. She was alone.

She walked to the window and raised a dainty hand, admiring the whiteness of her skin in the pale morning sunlight. _Lovely_. Fleur lowered her hand and leaned her forehead against cool glass, closing her eyes. The blindingly white hospital wing. Ginny's shocked face and Molly's shoulder under her cheek. A wreck of a world she had observed with too-keen, critical eyes. No beauty there. They would leave after the wedding, Harry, Hermione – and Ron. Without Harry she wouldn't have to be looking over her shoulder at all times, but without Ron it would be a bit more warmth disappearing. She would be moving in with Bill. No one else, just her and Bill, Bill and her, a married couple. No family around them, no outsiders concerning her, no admiration to bask in either. Just her husband and the everlasting weight of true love on her chest, the pain tightening her lungs as she watched his scars and still wanted to kiss them. A trapped butterfly, fluttering wings, a feeling so strong there was no room left for oxygen inside of her. Fleur breathed in deep and told herself it was the most beautiful feeling. It was. A beauty to kill, to die for, to crush a shallow young bride. She was nothing. They were everything.

Her nerves shook, ready to snap, and she whirled around to leave the room. She needed some space, and some fresh air.

* * *

So they lived together, the two of them in the middle of a war, just the two of them – until one night came when they heard desperate fists pounding on their door.

Fleur gave a little shriek as Bill was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn, back tense.

"Who is there?" he shouted, striding across the room towards the door and standing there, rigid, drawing her eyes along with his every move.

"It's me, Ron!" a pitiful voice replied, "Ronald Bilius Weasley... gone on the run with Harry and Hermione, with a cursed ghoul as my replacement in the Burrow."

Bill threw the door open, grasping his little brother in a fierce, nearly painful-looking hug. "Thank goodness," he breathed. "Where are they? Harry and Hermione?"

Ron flinched. "I... don't know."

Bill stared, "What? They didn't get caught, did they?"

"No, no, they didn't! I almost did, I... look, I left." Ron sucked in a breath. "We... it was useless, what we were trying to do, impossible. He didn't know what he was doing. So I left."

"You left your friends?"

Bill was staring at his brother as though he'd never seen him before and Fleur was staring at the white-faced young man with a shaking voice, shaking hands and anger within his chest – and Ron was staring at his shoes. There was a beat of silence.

"I need a place to stay, Bill," he finally whispered. "And someone who won't hate me... for what I did. Please."

Bill turned away. "Fleur," he muttered, "can you show my brother to a room?"

She whirled around with just one quick glance behind, and went for the stairs.

* * *

He was always sitting on the bed or looking out the window, whenever she entered the room to bring him food. He scarcely ever went downstairs and she never saw the Deluminator out of his hands. He didn't speak to her at all, either.

"'y did you leave?"

He looked up at her drearily. "It was useless... what we were doing. Impossible. Mad."

"And are you more useful 'ere?" she asked severely.

"No. But I'm closer to my family."

She went to sit on the edge of his bed. "Do you wish you 'adn't left?"

"No." She waited. "Sometimes."

There was a beat of silence.

"All the time," he croaked miserably, "but how am I supposed to find them, now?"

"I wouldn't know, Ron," she whispered.

They both took a breath.

"Do you miss Ermione?" Fleur's voice was soft.

"Like hell," Ron murmured. "She must hate me."

"I doubt zat."

"How would you know?"

She didn't answer at once. "You know," she finally said, "sometimes I think zat, to survive a war, one shouldn't love."

He stared at her. "This is madness! What can you fight for if not your loved ones? What..."

"Shut up, Ron," Fleur spoke in a dignified tone, "you are in my house, and you are ze one 'o ran from your loved ones. Stop pretending with me."

He fell silent, awkward. "Yeah," he finally said, "I get what you mean... I think."

"I zink so, too." There was another pause. "It 'urts."

"Yeah."

"You want to run. To stop caring. You want to be free."

Silence.

"Yes."

Fleur turned to fully face him, staring fiercely into his clear blue eyes, his lost eyes.

"Eet eez okay to want to run, Ron. Eet eez okay to be a coward. Eet eez okay to be too weak... to stand ze force in 'ich you love. And to be scared."

He shook his head wordlessly, his chest constricted all of a sudden. His lips parted, he mouthed a "Yeah" that could have been a "No", and Fleur leant closer and kissed the word off his lips, harshly, passionately. She knew that he understood.

They folded into each other, and welcomed oblivion, for a moment.

* * *

"You love my brother."

Fleur willed herself to be calm, to be unharmed by his awkward words. He understood, he just had trouble admitting it. They both knew what it all meant. Deep down, he understood.

"More zan my own life," she said. "You love Ermione."

He didn't answer at once. "Yeah, I love her," he finally said, his voice low and tight with the pain of deepest truths.

"So you understand," she spoke with an air of finality, "you ran away from 'er. You ran away from your fears, from 'at could 'ave 'appened and 'at might not 'ave. I know 'ow zat feels."

"What... what we did..."

"You're not stupeed, Ron, don't act like you are. We both know 'o we love and we both know 'at 'appened. Eet was no accident. Eet did not mean nozing. Eet was something we needed, right now, to get 'rough, and to see zings more clearly."

"So what should I do?" he breathed exhaustedly.

She stood from his bed, tall, white and naked, sublime – an angel of love, through and through.

"I zink you know eet already. Join zem," she said, picking up her clothes. "'enever you can."

Ron fell back against the bed with a heavy sigh. He didn't watch her go.

* * *

"Congratulations."

Fleur smiled, an outworldly light radiating from her perfect, tired features.

"Zank you, Ron. Do you want to 'old 'er?"

Ron extended his arms and received the child warily. His first niece. How odd a feeling. He had been around babies – mostly little Teddy Lupin – but never quite such a delicate little doll before.

"Victoire," he said, "Victory. You are the child of victory, little one. One year ago exactly, your uncle was kicking Death Eaters' arses over at Hogwarts. I'll tell you all the stories when you grow up."

"You won't be around my princess at all if you keep being zat rude, Ronald Weasley," his sister-in-law scolded.

He sighed.

"I suck with princesses, unfortunately."

Fleur frowned. "'Ow eez Ermione?"

"Won't talk to me."

"Oh..." she breathed, "you told 'er."

"I had to." Ron was staring unhappily down at the sleeping baby girl in his arms. "You were my first. It wasn't fair on her."

"I understand," Fleur spoke serenely. She wanted her daughter back, yet she could see that the child in his arms was soothing Ron. "You 'ad to."

"She won't tell Bill."

Fleur bit her lip. "Nothing could 'reaten me and Bill." It was so true, she'd never even imagined him knowing.

"It was a mistake."

"It just 'appened. It was war. We were lost. She weell come around."

"Fleur..." Ron swallowed. Her name felt odd on his lips, wrong, as Hermione's now felt deadly sweet and forbidden.

"Ron," Fleur sighed, "I saw you looking at 'er, when you brought 'er from Malfoy Manor... She was the world."

"That she was," he agreed, his voice hoarse. "In a way she'd always been."

"And you were the light," Fleur went on, undisturbed, "'en she opened 'er eyes. Like me and Bill. Like Ginny and Arry. Like my princess in your arms." There was a pause. "And she knows eet."

They both stared down at the baby.

"What do you think I should do?" Ron asked softly.

"Leave 'er just a beet of time. Zen go to 'er and tell 'er 'at it means – you and 'er. You and me, too, if she wants to know. Everyzing." She paused again. "Let 'er see eet's everyzing."

"Thank you."

Gently, he gave her the baby back. As he was going to the door, he hovered there and asked:

"And why do you think... you and me...?"

Fleur held her little girl close, breathing into her scent. Then, slowly, she said:

"Because eet was never meant to 'appen any ozer way... and eet was never meant to 'appen at all."

Ron swallowed and let her words sink in and echo all over his troubled brain, trying to see some sense. Quietly she added:

"We knew 'ere we belonged, all along. Zey were long and difficult paths, similar yet opposed, and zey just 'appened to cross."

And Ron smiled.

"Thanks, Fleur," he said from the door, his voice a bit shaky. "I'd never thought..."

"Oh, me neither," she retorted, "strange zings 'appen in a war."

She kissed her daughter's forehead.

"Or in love at all, really."

The soft click of the door closing answered her words like a lightest agreement.


End file.
